Alex Rider, reluctant teenage assasin?
by minorxcrisis
Summary: One-shot. What if Scorpia decided to employ Alex as an assassin after his uncle's death and got a hold of him before MI6?


**A/N: Haha I know I'm supposed to focus on 'a tiny shift' but I just couldn't resist a one-shot...x)**

**Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

><p>It's never good news when your doorbell rings at 2 in the morning.<p>

Alex Rider considered himself a heavy sleeper—one with a sense of urgency, he often joked with his friends and uncle. He would sleep like a log and yet somehow manage to jump out of bed, completely awake at the first sign of any change or danger in his surroundings. This useful skill had enabled him to avoid the bulk of Jack's buckets of ice in the morning, much to her chagrin.

It was the first ring that had his eye jerked open wide. The air was slightly chilled and the moon was shining bright onto his bed covers. The unmistakable smell of trouble. The second ring threw him out of bed and sent him sprinting into the hallway. His instincts screamed at him to hurry, that he was too late. There was something very, very wrong.

Jack was already ahead of him, speaking to the policemen at the door in barely decipherable words; her voice was shaking too badly.

"We're sorry about your loss...it happened very fast...lost too much blood..."

Jack half stumbled back into the house, her face eerily pale. She caught sight of Alex and headed straight for him. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him as hard as she could. She had not done that since he was ten. She was shaking so hard and suddenly he realized that she was sobbing soundlessly.

And then Alex knew. He realized that he had already known when the doorbell started to ring. And he really, really hated it when he was right.

He leaned into Jack's embrace, tightly hugging her back.

...

Even in his earliest memories, Alex had no recollection of his parents, John and Helen Rider. They had died in a private plane crash when he was less than a year old. He had survived only because of an ear infection that had forced them to leave him behind. That day onwards, he was raised by his uncle and his best friend and housekeeper, Jack Starbright.

Ian Rider was a quiet man who enjoyed life when he could. A bachelor in his early thirties working as a banker, he had brought his nephew up in countries all over the world and taught him to appreciate the different cultures, music and languages.

"Things like that always come in handy one day." He had told Alex once, a faraway look in his eyes.

Alex missed the man who had brought him up since his parents had passed away. The warm brown eyes and dark brown hair with a crinkly little smile he was used to seeing on the various trips he had gone on with. Alex felt as though he had lost a good, old friend he had known nearly his own life and yet, barely knew. Ian Rider's job was one of the few things barely discussed, along with the locked study, his close friends and possible love life, or seemingly lack thereof. And as Alex looked back, standing before his uncle's grave, all the seemingly unimportant little details while he was still alive bothered him very much now.

He looked around the funeral procession. It was a small crowd of about thirty, yet he didn't known ninety percent of the gray and black suited people present. He assumed they were his uncle's colleagues from the bank. The bank had the same weird boring name trademark of all banks worldwide – the Royal and General Bank. And it seemed, the people who worked there were just as queer. 3 were making their way towards him now, 2 men and a woman, all decked out expensive business suits in the same depressing grey tones. Alex noted with newfound interest that the suits, though in tip top condition, seemed a little old and...Over-worn? Had they attended numerous funeral processions just like this one? Or were that just their usual work clothes? _Judging from the looks, probably both_, Alex decided in mild amusement as they approached.

* * *

><p>Alex let out the breath he had been holding. The strange chairman and vice-chairman of Royal and General had finally left. There was something really off about them, just as his uncle's life had been. The blank expressionless faces. The scrutinizing eyes. And above all, the <em>gun.<em> It was simply insane.

"Mr Rider." Alex felt someone lay a hand on him from behind. He stiffened, instincts howling, barely restraining from lashing out. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and groan. Another one?

Fortunately, he turned to see a handsome blond man with an easy smile in a neat black suit. No gray suit, gray hair, gray eyes or visible gun. Alex nearly cried in relief.

"Blunt and Jones?" The man asked, amusement shining in his eyes. "Or more specifically, Blunt?"

Alex stared at him in amazement at the spot on guess. "How'd you—"

"Met Blunt before, didn't enjoy it a single bit. I can recognize the after effects of the Blunt scrutiny." He winked at Alex. Alex found himself liking this mysterious guy more and more.

"Oh where are my manners! Good to meet you Alex, I'm Mike Chenay." He offered Alex a firm handshake. "Just came over to give my condolences. Your uncle was really a special man, as was your father."

Alex was stunned. "My..my father? You knew him?"

"Oh yes. You look so much like him. He was a... colleague of mine a long time ago." Chenay replied distractedly. "It's been good to meet you, Alex. I sincerely look forward to meeting you again. In the meantime, best of luck and try to stay healthy!" He disappeared into the crowd in the blink of an eye.

"But...Wait!" Alex called out, trying to run after him. But the man had vanished into thin air.

Alex sighed. The day just seemed to get weirder and weirder. _Best of luck and try to stay healthy_... The last words gave him an ominous feeling. It was as though the man had _expected_ he would need it...

* * *

><p>Alex watched the clearing van hurtle away out of sight. What was going on? Why were they trying to bury all evidence of Ian Rider's existence?<p>

Alex brought a hand to his face to wipe the sweat on his forehead. As he did, something silvery on his hand caught the light. He frowned and brought his hand closer. There was a slight outline on his palm the size of a coin.

A tiny silver scorpion.

How had it appeared on his palm? He briefly recalled the firm handshake with Chenay. Had the man somehow imprinted it on his hand in the process? But why would he do such a senseless thing?

Alex shook his head, trying to clear it. There were far too many mysteries right now. And he would solve each of them, starting from the Stryker and Son Auto Junkyard

* * *

><p>Alex watched as the man slowly crumpled to the ground soundlessly, reeling from the powerful back kick to his abdomen. Alex quickly turned to retrieve his bike. Suddenly, something small and metal whizzed past his ear and embedded itself in the man's throat. A shuriken.<p>

"What...?" Alex watched in horror as the man clutched his throat and writhed on the ground for a minute before his eyes rolled back into his head and he lay limply, staring up at the sky with empty eyes. The man was dead.

Alex was rooted to the spot, too shocked to move. Suddenly, he heard the faint whizzing sound again. Relying completely on his instincts, he threw himself to the left, rolling behind a car door. A shuriken appeared exactly where he had stood 3 seconds ago. Right in succession, 2 more flew at the car door, shattering the glass as he threw himself behind another pile of machinery. One shuriken flew so close to his face that it nicked the skin of his cheek, leaving a shallow line of blood.

What the hell was going on? Alex looked around wildly, trying to locate his attacker/attackers. There! A blur of movement from behind the crane and another flash of black behind a pile of rubble. Alex groaned and rolled away from another 2 oncoming shurikens, grunting as he aggravated his injured arm.

Suddenly, the attackers stopped throwing. They drew something from their coats and aimed...GUNS!

He barely threw himself out of the path of raining bullets. He had to do something or he would die! He couldn't keep running and shielding away from them. Eventually, his energy would run out and he would be hit if this continued. Hiding until they were gone was not an option either; thanks to the earlier incident with the crushed car, he left a trail of greasy car oil wherever he went. In fact they were following the oily trail towards him right now!

Wait a moment...oily trail? He took shelter behind a small mound of discarded car tires and examined the trail he had left behind. It wound around a mound of car parts and started near the mound the crane had been working on... which was where the 2 attackers were hiding...

But to find a flame...Alex looked around and grinned. Not 5 meters away lay the cigarette the crane operator had dropped, the cigarette butt still glowing faintly. It lay in plain view, completely unsheltered from his attackers. But there was no other way...

"I. Am. Crazy." Alex decided. He plunged out of his hiding place and into full view of the attackers, moving like the wind and barely missing the sharp edges as he raced to the cigarette. In a swift movement, he grabbed it and threw it at the oily trail, praying that his luck would hold.

The cigarette flew in a perfect arc in the air. And landed smack in the greasy path.

A moment of silence. The attackers stopped shooting as though they sensed the calm before the storm.

A single spark ignited. Suddenly, flames roared as the fire ate away the oil on the greasy trail. Right to the pile of greasy car parts they stood on.

Fire plus greasy metal plus machinery oil equals... "Explosion time," Alex smirked.

_Boom!_

The 2 attackers yelped as the pile beneath them burst into hungry red hot flames. Desperate, they jumped to the ground, trying to roll off the flames on their clothes.

Time to move. Alex turned to grab his bike.

Without warning, a fist flew into his face and everything went black.

* * *

><p>Alan Blunt had been sitting in his office, nodding approvingly at the images playing on the screen. The concealed cameras in the Junkyard perfectly captured the scene as Alex Rider threw a powerful back kick at the agent, knocking all the breath out of him. An impressive display of the boy's black belt karate skills. The boy would really be useful once he had got his hands on him.<p>

Already, everything was playing out according to plan. Next, he would have to call the boy down to the 'bank'.

Suddenly, a blur flew past Alex's head as he turned to leave. Another blur headed straight for the camera. The next thing Blunt knew, the computer monitor fizzled and the scene disappeared. What was going on? He grabbed the phone on his table.

"Steven! What happened to the images?" He demanded.

"Sir, I think the camera lens has been shattered," the chief technician answered. "Hang on, I'll switch to another camera further away."

A minute passed and the screen flickered back to life. The images were grainier, recoded by a camera further away from the site. Alex Rider appeared, fortunately alive but seemed to be rolling away from some sort of attack...

Alan Blunt suddenly grabbed the monitor with both hands, alarmed. He paused the image and zoomed in on the mysterious attackers, to the back of their clothes.

A shiny silver Scorpion.

He grabbed the phone again. "Crawley, get a strike team to Stryker's NOW!"

But it was too late when they arrived. The area was smoking but besides for the dead body, there was no sign of Scorpia or Alex Rider.

* * *

><p>Alex came to slowly. There was a heavy pounding in his head and everything was a bit fuzzy. He seemed to be lying on a soft bed. Then everything came back to him—the junkyard, the mysterious attackers and the blow to his head...<p>

He bolted upright in bed and groaned at the increased pounding.

"Woah! Glad to see that you're back to the world of the living, Alex!" A familiar voice called out cheerily. Alex found himself staring back at Mike Chenay. He took a quick glance at his surroundings. He was in a small comfy bedroom with deep blue walls and a toilet to the right. He was now in pajamas, his wounds wrapped up. But what caught his eye was the silver scorpion adorned on top right corner of the blanket.

"Where am I?" He demanded. "Who exactly are you?"

Chenay just smiled. The door opened and in stepped a rather beautiful woman in her forties. Everything from her posture to her clothes spoke of elegance and yet, whispered _dangerous_. She gave him a charming smile of perfect white molars.

"Good, you're finally awake, Alex Rider. My name is Julia Rothman. Welcome to Scorpia..."


End file.
